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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132398">Sweet Dreams and Bitter Coffee</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_of_the_Ruckus/pseuds/Queen_of_the_Ruckus'>Queen_of_the_Ruckus</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Noblesse (Manhwa)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amnesia, Character Death, M/M, Murder, Post-Canon, Psychological Horror, Romance, Tragedy, what epilogue</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 07:28:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,788</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132398</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_of_the_Ruckus/pseuds/Queen_of_the_Ruckus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Some contingency plans just shouldn’t be made. Frankenstein was too clever, and now his life is falling apart.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cadis Etrama di Raizel/Frankenstein (Noblesse)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Sweet Dreams and Bitter Coffee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He glanced up at the ever-present, ever-growing stack of paperwork and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand while removing his glasses with the other. He leaned back, rubbing at them with a soft, designated cloth. Six even, measured circles before replacing them, only to fidget absently with the ring on his right hand.</p><p> </p><p>Transfer students, problem students, scholarship programs, field trips, employee evaluations, student-teacher arrangements, board meetings, budgets, curriculum adjustments… The list went on and on, the pile on his desk perpetually replenishing itself like some sort of divine punishment.</p><p> </p><p>He’d served as chairman of YeRan High School for so long now that he couldn’t quite seem to recall what he’d done before his tenure. It wasn’t a topic that held his interest, and he assumed that it’d been more of the same. But the years spent fulfilling the same role had certainly racked up, and he found the monotony to be periodically grating. Another handful of years and he’d be staring down retirement, though that eventuality struck him as being equally bleak.</p><p> </p><p>With another tired sigh, he set himself once more to reading the proposal laid out on his desk, leaning forward and absently turning his ring with his thumb. He’d made it most of the way through the PTA’s argument to alter campus vehicle policies before something sharp dug into him and he cried out in surprise.</p><p> </p><p>Blood dripped onto the polished wood of his desk. His ring had somehow sliced into him.</p><p> </p><p>His vision dissolved briefly into white stars, the feeling abruptly gone from his fingers and his stomach dropping sickly. Weakly. </p><p> </p><p>After a long moment, his strength began to return. He shoved his papers aside and blindly turned the ring back in the hopes of removing whatever had lodged itself under his skin. Feeling the bite recede, he set about wiping up the spilled blood before staunching the modest flow from his hand. </p><p> </p><p>The sight of blood had always made him ill. He credited this unfortunate quirk to his choice to take a position in education, despite possessing a strangely ravenous interest for biology and medical science.</p><p> </p><p>When he finally felt collected enough to inspect the damage, he discovered a strangely deep puncture wound. Slipping the heavy silver ring onto his palm, something of the well-crafted pattern appeared to have split off and left a sharp barb. </p><p> </p><p>He frowned at it. For all that it was an accident, it appeared strangely appropriate. It held a strange aesthetic balance, and a sense of being <em> right </em>. The ring, with its rose and vine pattern, had pierced his skin with a single perfect thorn.</p><p> </p><p>Something about it grated at him and his frown deepened. It seemed as though many of his possessions had developed strange failures, as of late. </p><p> </p><p>Leaning back in his chair, he took a deep, steadying breath. His eyes automatically drifted up to the clock- 8:20 pm. <em> How had it gotten to be so late? </em> Raiden would be waiting for him, probably agitated. He wasn’t too keen on sleeping alone on the couch. Just the thought was enough to send him scurrying into motion. </p><p> </p><p>He was out the door before the blood had dried on his hand, the ring lying forgotten in his pocket.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>“You’re late, Honey.” His partner spoke Korean with a foreign lilt, despite having the appearance of a local. </p><p> </p><p>For his own part, he could flawlessly speak Raiden's native tongue, but felt it was best to give him the extra practice at home. “Apologies, I got hung up at work.” </p><p> </p><p>“Paperwork again?” Raiden allowed himself to be ushered out of their kitchen without complaint, seating himself gracefully at the bar with an air of entitlement. Something sweet was placed before him in no time at all, a penance for the late arrival and for starting dinner at such an hour. </p><p> </p><p>"Forever and always, apparently. I feel as though I've been doing it in my sleep." He certainly didn't feel rested, these days. He buried these thoughts under the comforting mundane routine of cooking, cleaning dirtied utensils as he went as a matter of course.</p><p> </p><p>They ate dinner. Raiden flipped through the channels on the tv with a regal disinterest, while he flipped through the tired pages of a book. They had sex. They went to bed.</p><p> </p><p>When sleep took him, it caressed him like a lover, held him tightly in a tender red embrace. </p><p> </p><p>He awoke in a cold sweat, though he could not recall quite why.</p><p> </p><p>He rolled himself out of bed and found himself navigating automatically to his study. There, he passed the small hours of the morning until it was time to prepare Raiden’s coffee.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>Back in his office at YeRan, he absently rubbed at the phantom weight on his finger, his thoughts strangely scattered in the absence of his pet nervous tick. He found himself staring at the adornments on his walls. They remained largely unchanged, year after year. The students were always the same. Mostly respectable, standard children. A handful of foreigners were always drawn to the school, comforted by his own European looks. Some of the girls were prettier than others, some of the boys less ruly.</p><p> </p><p>Today, his attention was gripped by a framed copy of a poem. Or, more accurately, by the intricate gothic cross glaring darkly at him from the bottom of its creamy white paper. Black with red tracing. Lovingly, painstakingly drawn. It was striking, but it did not fit. Not with the poem, not with his world views, and not with the rest of the sleek, modern decor. </p><p> </p><p>Absently, he scribbled out the image on the notepad on his desk. When he was finished, he blinked down in a flat sort of surprise. He was a rather good hand at copying, apparently.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Captain of my soul’, indeed. I should take that down before the students get the wrong idea. </em></p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>He sat in his office at home, tapping his pen absently against his desk. It wasn’t as comforting to him, but his ring was still at the jeweler's. Throwing money at the man had certainly moved his job up in the queue, but it was still going to take some time before he got it back.</p><p> </p><p>The framed copy of ‘Invictus’ lay off to the side, awaiting replacement. A tidy stack of papers lay untouched on the exact center of his lavishly appointed desk. They cried out for his attention, having followed him home like wayward children.</p><p> </p><p>Raiden was not yet home. </p><p> </p><p>He should be making progress while he had nothing else to distract him. But instead, he found himself pulling out the books from his shelves for what seemed to be the umpteenth time, intending to impose some sort of order. Or to at least separate them by language or genre or <em> something </em>. No matter how he tried, they always seemed to end up haphazardly placed. It grated on him somewhere close to the base of his skull, tension winding through his shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>When the books were all neatly arranged on the floor in orderly stacks, his phone buzzed. He flicked it on immediately, checking his message with the air of someone expecting a disaster.</p><p> </p><p>It was 8:20. Raiden wasn’t going to be home until late. </p><p> </p><p>Anxiety washed through him as he read through it again. His partner was lithe and delicate and lovely, and had a penchant for overindulgence. In a rush, he texted back that he could use the diversion and would be joining him soon. </p><p> </p><p>He shoved the sorted stacks of books back onto the shelf before rushing off to change his clothes. In no time at all, he had departed alone into the night.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>A sharp, playful knock sounded at the door. Raiden let himself in without bothering to wait for a response.</p><p> </p><p>The light streaming in through the window caught him just so, and Raiden seemed to glow. Something in him clicked and he pulled his partner down to him by his tie, greedily stealing a kiss with such advance warning as to rival the unexpected intrusion into his office. </p><p> </p><p>Raiden returned it with a ravenous hunger, tangling up his fingers in long, golden hair and hastily removing clothes. </p><p> </p><p>He allowed himself to be drawn up, pushed down, and fucked mercilessly on top of his own desk, papers hastily pushed off to the side.</p><p> </p><p>“Here, you forgot this at home.” Raiden tossed something small in the general direction of his desk without looking. Carelessly, he turned away.</p><p> </p><p>He reached out and caught it from where he lay. The door to his office opened and shut without any further interaction, leaving him, once again, alone. Lost in a haze, he looked down at the object in his palm. </p><p> </p><p>His ring, repaired and flawless, glinted back at him brightly.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>“Wow, you look the same in all of these pictures, Hon. Just how long have you been wearing these fake glasses? Hey, don't tell me you thought I didn't know~”</p><p> </p><p>Raiden absconded with his stolen glasses, playfully slipping them on and gazing back over his shoulder enticingly. Entirely vain, and wholly confident in his presentation.</p><p> </p><p>A misplaced frustration roiled up from deep within. His brow creased with dissatisfaction and discomfort. The image was somehow <em> wrong </em> . “Take them off, they don’t suit you. Or did you <em> want </em>to be taken for a high school principal?”</p><p> </p><p>“Taken <em> by </em>one, perhaps.” Raiden took off the glasses.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>He sat down next to Raiden at the bar, another of his friends graciously giving up their seat so he could be close to his boyfriend. He nodded his thanks to Min-Jun, even as he turned a blind eye to the subtle look the man shared with his partner.</p><p> </p><p>He said nothing of it, allowing his lover to indulge in his every whim. He knew, as he had a way of knowing, that these trysts were desired by Raiden. Treasured, even. </p><p> </p><p>Outwardly, he acted the part of the perfect gentleman, the perfect partner. He knew everything there was to know about each and every one of Raiden’s many friends, including the ones he slept around with. Especially the ones he slept around with.</p><p> </p><p>He remained mild. He kept tabs on the situation, dug up every detail, all while keeping that placid smile plastered so convincingly across his handsome face. He nodded to Min-Jun, even as he caught the weight of Raiden’s scent upon him. Sweat, cologne, and something less common. </p><p> </p><p>The first-person flash of Raiden kneeling before Min-Jun in the ill-lit men’s room didn’t phase him in the slightest. He didn't think anything of such insights. </p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t interested in the venue or the food or the conversation. The alcohol never seemed to do anything for him, despite his own heavy consumption. The company repulsed him. What he liked was the cute, careless laxness that fell about Raiden as he predictably overindulged. The slight lapses in conversation as he struggled to find the right words in Korean. </p><p> </p><p>He found something endearing in the way Raiden thought that he could get them both home. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>“Hey, why do you always call our pal here ‘Raiden’?” Another man, Mal-Chin, asked as he wound his arm tightly around Raiden’s shoulders, intimately pulling him in close.</p><p> </p><p>Raiden shot the man a short, scathing look for flaunting their affair so blatantly in front of his partner. “It’s my middle name. He likes it better, so it’s fine. It’s more like a pet name, isn’t it Hon?” His modest attempts to shrug off the unwanted contact were unsuccessful. He forced himself to relax, not wanting to draw attention to it by causing a scene.</p><p> </p><p>“Mhm, it is at that. Reminds me of something pleasant. Someone I knew as a child, or something like that.” He strode over and laid a hand on Mal-Chin’s other arm, his grasp a little tighter than would normally be considered threatening.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>The clock ticked over 8:20.</p><p> </p><p>He opened the door to their bedroom, balancing the heavily laden tray with ease. His internal timer went off, and he painstakingly pressed the perfectly steeped coffee for his love. </p><p> </p><p>Raiden didn’t enjoy tea.</p><p> </p><p>He poured for him into an antique tea cup, the bright bone porcelain delicately patterned with roses that extended with grace to the matching saucer below. A generous splash of sweetened cream, and Raiden finally set down his magazine to take the reverently offered drink.</p><p> </p><p>He inhaled deeply, amber eyes slipping shut in satisfaction. “Mmm, hmhm. Sugar, this smells <em> way </em>too good to be decaf. I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight if you insist on tempting me with this.”</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, and now wouldn't that be tragic.” He slid in behind Raiden on their bed, displacing a stack of pillows and laying his skilled hands atop slim shoulders. He rubbed slow circles into Raiden's back with a delicate perfection. “I wonder what else we might do, if not sleep..."</p><p> </p><p>Raiden hummed softly and leaned back into him. He lifted the cup from its saucer and indulged them both.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>His house was filled with annoying little mysteries. He thought about them sometimes. Right now, it was the elevator. </p><p> </p><p>It only serviced the two floors of his home, and while it was damned useful to him at the moment while he was carrying a tray loaded with sweets and decaf coffee up to their room, the amenity itself seemed unnecessary and frivolous. An anomaly.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>In his office at home, he stared at the bookshelf with a muted disgust. The books were just as disorganized as ever.</p><p> </p><p>With a sigh, he took them all back down.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>He stood again before the bookshelf, uncertain of how many times he’d already attempted to tackle this particular annoyance. It rose before him like paperwork, now piled up in excess and waiting for him back at YeRan.</p><p> </p><p>His shoulders slumped under the accumulated weight of past defeats, and he instead settled on actually flipping through one of his many, many books. A clean, white spine caught his eye, and he slipped it off the shelf, retreating to the comfort of his chair before cracking it open. The cover was soft calfskin, emblazoned with an intricate gothic cross. </p><p> </p><p>He quirked an eyebrow, uncertain of why he would own such a thing. It proved itself to be a re-bound book of poetry, rather than any sort of religious text. He read through the table of contents impartially, before at last turning to a specific page. William Ernest Henley’s ‘Invictus’. He knew the poem by heart, but he wondered whether the copy from the school had perhaps been removed from this particular book, as they bore such similar decoration. </p><p> </p><p>A neatly pressed piece of paper slipped out and fluttered ostentatiously to the floor.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly interested, he reached down to collect it. An unintelligible string of letters filled the page. The handwriting was his own. </p><p> </p><p>He immediately made more room on his desk, laying out the cipher and the poem he could only assume was its key. He laid out a neat grid on his notepad and immediately set about cracking his own code. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, holding the strange piece of jewelry up to the access panel in his elevator made him feel a little bit insane, and more than a little childish. </p><p> </p><p>But the message he'd unraveled had been very specific on this point, guiding him to the hidden earring and stressing that he was under no circumstances to touch it with his own body. </p><p> </p><p>He narrowed his eyes rebelliously, before brushing the smallest finger of his left hand against the cold metal of the cross. </p><p> </p><p>When he regained consciousness, he was lying in a heap on the elevator floor. Thankfully, he was still alone and  could assume that no one had come across him in such a compromised state. He carefully scooped the earring back into its plush black box and held it against the wall of the elevator once more, this time touching the illuminated B1 when it appeared on the smooth metal surface. </p><p> </p><p>He was filled with a mild, grudging disappointment when the laboratory failed to spark any sort of repressed memories for him. His logic told him that this was unreasonable, and that he should be giddy at the discovery instead of disappointed that it was not something more. </p><p> </p><p>Nevertheless, he set about exploring the place with more excitement than he could recall ever having felt. </p><p> </p><p>A computer booted up automatically at his approach, and a practically modern biometric scanner authenticated him as a user. A document seemed to already be waiting for him on the large, outdated screen. </p><p> </p><p>"If you are reading this, it is because this terminal has not been accessed in excess of-"</p><p> </p><p>He greedily devoured the note he'd apparently left for himself, no longer concerned about such trivial things as the state of his own sanity. </p><p> </p><p>And here he read about soul weapons and noble vampires and blood contracts. Of pieces of someone he had once held dear, and who he (both he himself and the one who had written the note) could only assume had met with some terrible fate. </p><p> </p><p>And then he moved on to other documents, as directed. Fantastical things, all signed with an 'F'. And when he looked inside of himself, really, genuinely <em> looked</em>, he could start to believe that this 'F' told the truth. Because now that he knew what he was looking for, he could feel the foreign energies of a seal, and the warm red glow of something that used to be more. Much, much more. Possibly, it used to be everything. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>He could see it now, and it was astounding. That all of the books on his shelf were, in fact, meticulously arranged. </p><p> </p><p>That they had been that way all along. </p><p> </p><p>A repeating pattern emerged before his very eyes, composed precisely of the exact right number of books. It was probable that the shelf itself had been a custom build, designed solely to accommodate such a specific arrangement, the books selected solely to fit the requirements, though for what purpose he could not begin to discern. He need only look at the first letter of each title to see it. </p><p> </p><p>He noticed it one day while tapping absently at his desk, his ring not yet returned from the jeweler.</p><p> </p><p>CADISETRAMADIRAIZELCADISETRAMADIRAIZELCADISETRAMADIRAIZEL</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>He set the tray down on the small table in their room. The darkness of his own hand reflected back at him from the mirror-shine of the lid as he pressed his lover’s coffee. Descending ominously, the brightness growing shadowed.</p><p> </p><p>Raiden liked it dark. Without the generous dose of sweetened cream, it would be entirely too bitter to drink.</p><p> </p><p>Raiden accepted the offered tea cup with his usual grace. Then he reached out with a delicate hand to tease at the long black ribbon at his partner’s throat. “What’s with the outfit, Sugar?”</p><p> </p><p>He turned away, busying himself with tidying up the other items on the tray. “...It’s Frankenstein.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hm?”</p><p> </p><p>“My name. It’s Frankenstein.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I see~” He took a liberal sip, smiling at the perfectly balanced coffee in his hands. After a while, he decided to follow up on his question. “So shall I call you Victor?” He was no stranger to role play.</p><p> </p><p>“No. Just… Frankenstein.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, okay then! In that case, <em> Frankenstein </em>, when will I get to see that monster you’re so famous for? Is it under all of this, somewhere?~”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> When, indeed? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The empty cup slipped from nerveless fingers, only to be snatched up before it could hit the floor.</p><p> </p><p>His lover’s body crumpled bonelessly, his breathing slow and deep. His eyelids didn’t flutter as he too was caught up in Frankenstein’s grasp.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>CADISETRAMADIRAIZEL CADISETRAMADIRAIZEL CADISETRAMADIRAIZEL</p><p> </p><p>CADIS ETRAMA DI RAIZEL. CADIS. ETRAMA. DI. RAIZEL. </p><p> </p><p>RAIZEL RAIZEL RAIZEL RAIZEL RAIZEL RAIDEN.</p><p> </p><p>His heart stuttered at the thought. The realization. </p><p>The flash. The spark.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>He laid out Raiden’s body across the sterile surface of an operating table.</p><p> </p><p>If ‘F’ was to be believed, if he himself had been correct, then he still held two pieces of Cadis Etrama di Raizel contained within himself. Two pieces of a soul that could yet be displaced into another.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And here, look at this! A suitable counterfeit has already been found. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Without further ado, he reached inside himself and ripped apart his very soul, shoving what remained of his warm, comforting red into the still, sleeping form before him.</p><p> </p><p>The ethereal glow sparked and shimmered. And then his world erupted into such horrendous cacophony that his mind itself seemed to shatter and break.</p><p> </p><p>Violet chased away his vision, and he blacked out on the sterilized laboratory floor. Distantly, a deafness drowned out the sounds of his own screaming.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>***</p><p>His heart soared. His heart crashed. He felt empty inside as he never had before. And he <em> knew </em>.</p><p> </p><p>Frankenstein opened his eyes to the sight of his Master kneeling over him. Blood streaked his ashen face, and Raiden’s once-amber eyes radiated a soft red. Raizel looked down at his stolen body and Frankenstein could tell that he knew as well. What he once might have felt so vividly through their bond was instead spelled out for him in the anguish on his Master’s face. His silence cut Frankenstein far worse than any words of judgement.</p><p> </p><p>He struggled to sit up, to take his Master’s hands in his own.</p><p> </p><p>He had no words to describe the horrible, rending, scooped-out feeling in his soul. It was broken, cracked, bleeding out. Eaten away. If this was anything close to how his Master felt… But he didn’t have the time to dwell on such unknowable things. </p><p> </p><p>Unthinkable. Unbearable. </p><p> </p><p>He could feel what remained of himself slipping quietly away.</p><p> </p><p>“Frankenstein... I had only wished to keep you from grief." Raizel’s quiet voice filled the space between his thoughts. What remained of his own soul rang golden and sweet.</p><p> </p><p>“Master. I am so sorry.” The waves of sorrow, grief, and guilt that washed over him were absolute. But he soon began to grow numb. He clung, instead, to the perfect right that was now holding him tightly. He embraced his master in turn, crushing him to his chest. </p><p> </p><p>Together, and their light began to fade.</p><p> </p><p>What remained of Raizel was blackened and bleeding, his seal expended in extinguishing Dark Spear. His piece of their bond was burning away as he held his dear one together as best as he could. </p><p> </p><p>Frankenstein reached up to wipe the blood from Raizel’s face, the sight of which had always cut him so deeply. He stared into such warm red as had been alive and held safely inside himself, always with him, tangled up in his very soul.</p><p> </p><p>They faded in each other’s arms. Together, as they had been. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Set after Raizel's death, in which Frankenstein has no memory of anything. (This is my response to the fics in which Rai erases Franken’s memories.) Frankenstein considers this as a possibility and builds obsolescence into his things to remind himself that something isn’t right and hides clues for himself all over his life, just in case Rai tries to pull this sh*t with him. His mind might not be able to grasp what he’s lost, but his Master is still a part of his soul.</p><p>I’m not a big fan of overt exposition in writing. So I tend to try to leave some things up for your consideration, even if I have a reason for what’s happening. I understand that expecting people who *don’t* already know what’s going on to figure out why something happened isn’t entirely fair, so here are a handful of points that may not have been very clear:</p><p>Franken’s aversion to blood? I figure Rai would have sealed away anything that might clue Franken in to his absence. The Noblesse has dominion over blood, and his bleeding is always extremely upsetting to Franken. Additionally, Rai wouldn’t want Franken to go back to his crazy experiments, performed on himself or otherwise. With these things in mind, I figure Rai’s final seal was perhaps a bit *too* effective, affecting a few of his mundane normalities in addition to his knowledge of his life before his present at YeRan.</p><p>The thing with Raiden’s name? Two syllables, starts with an ‘R’. Raizel, Raiden, Raizel, Raiden. Vaguely similar in appearance to ‘Raizel’. Franken effectively renamed his partner so he would be even more reminiscent of Rai. (I had him down as 'Robert' in the first run. Thanks escspace for suggesting something prettier.)</p><p>The elevator ‘key’: I figured that a token show of power would be necessary to access the lower levels in Frankenstein’s home. With Franken’s powers locked away by Raizel, he wouldn’t have been able to accomplish this on his own. Instead, he uses a Dark Spear-forged seal to trick his own machine into allowing him access. A fail-safe he’d considered when devising this particular contingency plan.</p><p>Anything else that wasn’t obvious? Let me know and I’ll stick it up here, too. :)</p><p>Me, after entirely too much caffeine: Make the cipher! Make the cipher! Make the cipher! (If I ever actually get around to it, I’ll tack it on as ‘Chapter 2’. The sick part of me that enjoys pointless things wants to include an encoded prequel chapter, as well. Who tf wants their fanfiction coded?? Probably the same people who deciphered the page border code in the Artemis Fowl books, idk.)</p><p>Thank you so much for reading!!! This fic’s kind of my baby. Please let me know what you think!<br/>Even if it’s not favorable, I appreciate the feedback and I can always make it better. ;) </p><p> </p><p>Fic playlist:<br/>Glass Animals - ‘Cocoa Hooves’, ‘Dust In Your Pocket’, ‘Psylla’, 'Flip'<br/>Tame Impala - ‘The Less I Know The Better’, ‘New Person, Same Old Mistakes’<br/>MISSIO - ‘Everybody Gets High’<br/>Vanic X Zella Day -’Hypnotic’</p></blockquote></div></div>
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